Chapter 36
MYRA
Fear overwhelmed Myra’s trembling frame. The pain at the back of her head had only marginally subsided in the time that had passed. Her wrists burned from the rope digging into her flesh.
As the leaves crunched only a few paces away, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Panic surged through her as her captor’s emotions wafted off him. Impatience, hunger, greed. But it was the feeling beneath those that scared her the most. Something more wicked and sinister.
She pressed her head back against the tree, trying to get as far away as she could. Still, the man came closer. His hot breath scorched her neck, sending a terrifying chill spiraling down her back.
"Hey," the second man called out, "what are you—"
"Hush," the man closest to her spat. "Perhaps our little friend here needs some convincing."
Myra heard something slide against leather. Then a sharp tip pressed against her knee, the pressure not strong enough to pierce but enough to be present.
"I wonder if we’ve made a mistake. Maybe you’re not as precious to King Rian as we first thought," her captor whispered. His emotions whipped around her, red-hot and searing. A wickedness slithered beneath that turned her stomach.
"No response? Hmm. Perhaps you need some convincing." He dragged the blade higher up her thigh, increasing the pressure with each passing inch.
The blade ripped through her trousers, the fabric tearing, the sound like a crack of thunder. The tip broke skin, the pain bright. She choked back a sob. She would not cry. She would not—
Snap.
The man froze.
"What was that?" the other man asked with a slight tremble.
Myra stopped breathing.
She wanted to be wrong. Laurince and Rian weren’t supposed to come.
Not for her, never for her. She didn’t want to endanger either of them, yet somehow, even before he revealed himself, she knew he was there.
Every nerve-ending sparked, her heart thundered, and relief flooded her chest at the sound of his voice.
"Release her," Laurince demanded, his tone even sharper and deadlier than the blade that had just touched her skin.
The man jerked away. "Grab her," he demanded.
Myra was jostled as cold metal kissed her throat. A high-pitched, muffled yelp slipped from her lips as he held the blade steady. Tears stained the blindfold.
"Did you not hear me?" Laurince asked. "I said release her."
"We’ll gladly give her over if you give us King Rian," the man, who was now a few feet away, said.
Myra jerked in the other man’s grasp, a muffled shout slipping around the gag as she tried to tell Laurince to turn around, that she wasn’t worth it.
"Shut it," her captor hissed in her ear, the metal cold on her skin.
"Do you see a king with me?" Laurince asked.
Thank the gods, Myra thought.
But the relief was fleeting. Without Rian, Laurince was outnumbered. Even if Myra wasn’t tied up, she would have been useless in a fight.
"Do not play dumb with us. We know you’re traveling with him. That little innkeeper confirmed it." He clicked his tongue. "There’s a pretty penny for that little red head of his—dead or alive. Although we’ll get more if we bring him back alive."
"Just give me the girl," Laurince commanded, "and maybe I’ll let you leave here alive."
"I don’t think you’re in a position to make threats," the man said, his tone sharpening. "Plus, I don’t think I’ve had my fill of her yet. Not even a taste, really. We were just getting started, weren’t we?"
The tip of the blade pierced Myra’s skin, and Myra gasped, choking on the gag as tears fell.
"I said, get your hands off her."
A whistle of air whipped past her ear. Myra froze as a wet scream sounded to her right, followed by a gurgle.
Something splattered on her neck and face, and she squealed in horror as something dropped into her lap.
The knife, she thought—she hoped. The tang of iron coated the air, and warm liquid soaked the sleeve of her shirt.
"Oh, you’re going to regret that," the man spat.
Metal crashed against metal, each man grunting.
Insults passed between Laurince and the assailant as they battled.
But Myra was still blindfolded. She couldn’t see anything.
She couldn’t tell who was winning or losing.
Frantically, she scooted back, ignoring the weight pressing against her side.
She shifted, sliding her head against the bark.
The blindfold didn’t budge. All her frazzled movements did was irritate the lump on her skull and snag her hair.
Someone hissed in pain. Her stomach lurched. She could have sworn it was Laurince, the sound all too similar to when he fought Mynhos in Ardentol.
Her movements became more frantic.
Myra ignored the pain lacing the back of her head, the heat emanating from the rope, and the warmth seeping into her clothes.
She tried to wiggle free of the restraints, twisting and yanking.
She attempted to saw through the restraints using the bark of the tree.
Every time she moved, though, her right shoulder screamed in protest. Still, she forced herself to push through.
Then she heard it: a gut-wrenching, wet sound of a sword sliding through someone’s chest, the crack of ribs, and the squelch of blood spilling onto the ground.
Time stood still.
She didn’t know if she was breathing or if she even could. She could have sworn her heart stopped as she thought of Laurince lying dead on the ground, of his sweet smile forever fading into the distance, never to be seen again.
She was going to be sick.
She was going to—
Her blindfold was yanked from her eyes, and the sun blinded her, blurring her vision. She peered through water-stained eyes. The figure before her was too foggy and bright to see clearly. Then he spoke.
"I got you, Haze."
The sob ripped through her.
Laurince wiped away a stream of tears with his thumbs, the pads rough yet gentle against her skin. The gesture was useless, though, as more tears came. Her anxiety and fear were an unstoppable flood.
Hushed words spilled from Laurince’s mouth, but Myra barely heard them. She absentmindedly felt him reach around her. She faintly heard his blade slice through the rope, setting her free.
Unable to control her body, Myra crashed against his chest. She melted into a puddle against him, the pain of her shoulder, the wound on her inner thigh, and the burn around her wrists barely even a second thought.
Tears rocked her entire form, but she didn’t care how much of a mess she must have looked, not as Laurince wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to his chest.
"You’re safe with me. I promise," he whispered. Weaving his fingers through her damp hair, he cradled her head in his palm.
Myra hissed on contact, the bump on her head still sore.
"Shit, Haze. I’m sorry," Laurince muttered, instantly removing his hand. "If they weren’t dead already, I’d kill them again."
Myra pulled back slightly. At the bottom of her vision, the grass was stained red, her trousers splattered with blood.
"No, don’t look over there." Laurince said, guiding her chin back toward him. "Look at me." His eyes danced across her features as he caressed the side of her face. His thumb slid across her cheek tenderly. A million unspoken words seemed to cross his face. His lips parted, but then snapped shut.
He had killed them.
He had ended their lives to save hers.
She didn’t know how to feel about that. Her sense of morality, which, granted, was tainted, told her she shouldn’t have been relieved. Yet when she considered the other outcome…
Shaking, Myra asked, voice hoarse, "Where’s Rian?"
Laurince stiffened. His hold on her loosened, and his thumb halted its calming movement. "He’s safe, too. Don’t worry," he said, dropping his hand. The space where his hand had been instantly grew cold. He leaned back, putting distance between them.
Myra silently cursed, realizing her mistake. Still, she didn’t have the energy to correct herself.
"He wanted to come, but I told him not to." Laurince stood, brushing the dirt from his knees.
As he did, Myra nodded but stopped when her vision blurred.
"Good," she said, chewing her bottom lip. "That’s good. They…" Myra’s gaze instinctively slid toward the man’s body, but Laurince moved, shielding her from him. It was a small gesture, but one she was grateful for. She had seen death before, but it always shook her. "They were after him."
He held out a hand, and Myra took it without hesitation. Once upright, she wobbled on her feet.
Laurince caught her, his hands landing on her waist and steadying her. "Are you all right?" His gaze caught on her neck, where the man had nicked her with his weapon. His eyes trailed down her torso toward her thigh.
Myra slammed her legs together and swallowed the resulting curse. "I’m fine. I’m…" Her words trailed off.
She wasn’t fine; she was terrified.
Wiping her hand across her neck, she scratched the droplet of dried blood. She looked back up at Laurince. She was alive. She was safe.
Because of him.
"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, dropping her gaze again.
He tipped her chin up with his thumb. "Did you think I wouldn’t?"
"I—I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure," she admitted.
"Haze," he said, drawing out the name.
She stumbled, her knees buckling.
"Whoa," he said, catching her by the waist.
Her vision blurred, and her body grew suddenly cold, chills covering her flesh. "I think…I think I’m concussed…"
At least she assumed that was why her knees wobbled and why it was still hard for her to breathe. Although Laurince’s presence, his closeness, and the protective shield he offered her without question, might have played a part, too.
Laurince wrapped his arm around her back, tucking her against him. "Lean on me then, yeah?"